The Aftermath
by The Silent Rumble
Summary: New traitors are discovered in the sequel of "So, You Really Didn't Fall Off The Jungle Gym." Can Don and the team stay together in the midst of all the struggle? Or is one of them a traitor, too?
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Aftermath 

Author: The Silent Rumble

DISCLAIMER: "Sequals are best posted a year after the previous book ended." Oh, wait... I don't own Hardy Boys.

I don't own Numb3rs. (Last I checked, neither do you; please don't sue!:))

Beta: FraidyCat

Let's go with a co-writer here, guys, she really did a lot. Thanks, FraidyCat.

Summary: "…He had arrived home with a tear-streaked face, a broken arm, and a stuttered story about falling in the playground." So, You Really Didn't Fall Off The Jungle Gym Sequel. A Hardy Boys/Numb3rs crossover.

Thanks for reviewing, thanks for sticking with us, and thanks to FraidyCat for beta'ing. Any remaining mistakes are mine. -Jason

"…_. He had arrived home with a tear-streaked face, a broken arm, and a stuttered story about falling in the playground."_

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"I'm so sorry, Jessica," Charlie said. He stood sobbing at the gravesite of his childhood friend, Jessica Cartman. Her own stepfather had murdered her, and Charlie had been there when it happened – and hadn't been able to stop it. The memories, though, were disturbingly fresh in his mind. He had repressed the experience for 20 years, until Fenton Hardy had managed to change all that.

Charlie's father, Alan, had agreed to foster Frank Hardy, the son of his old friend Fenton. It was bad enough to find out that Fenton was actually a criminal mastermind, operating a huge organization. When one of his long-time partners turned out to be Jeff Henderson, Jessica's stepfather, things had gone from bad to unimaginable. Kidnapped and tortured by Fenton and Jeff had triggered Charlie's memories of the morning so long ago; the morning he had intended to go to the park with Jessica. Instead, a few hours after walking to her house, he had arrived home with a tear-streaked face, a broken arm, and a stuttered story about falling in the playground. By the time his worried parents got it out of him, Charlie believed it himself. Oh, how he wished he still did!

Now, he remembered the day that Jessica was murdered – every single last moment. Frank's own story of abuse at the hands of Fenton had sent him into a "flashback" mode, where he could barely focus on anything, even his work. When Henderson lured Alan away from the house long enough to break in and throw Charlie down the stairs – just as he had done all those years before – it was all back. Charlie remembered everything. Why he and Jessica had gone down to the basement of her house, and what had happened there. What they had seen first, together; and then what he had seen alone.

Everyone told him it wasn't his fault, that there was nothing he could do. Yet as Charlie stood with his head bowed and his shoulders shaking with his sobs, he knew in his heart that it was. Not only had he not been able to help Jessica, he had let her murderers live unpunished for years. He had let them go on to abuse more children. Even as he begged Jessica to forgive him, Charlie knew that as long as he lived, he would never forgive himself.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Six months later_

Oswald was awakened by the steady beeping of an annoying monitor, and focused bleary eyes on a small computer screen to his right. Confused, he turned his head on the pillow and saw Charlie on the other side, looking like hell, as usual. That was the only thing that made sense to Oswald; Charlie had looked like hell for the last six months. But what was he doing here, staring unseeing at the floor? And for that matter, what was he, Oswald, doing here? This was obviously a hospital…. Shit. Someone must have found him in time.

He groaned and Charlie's head shot up. "Oswald? Do you need something?"

He reached for a glass on the bedside table, but Oswald shook his head. Actually, he was really thirsty – but he didn't deserve it. "You should have let me go," he whispered, looking Charlie in the eye.

Professor Eppes blinked rapidly, and started whispering himself. "Why? Oswald, why? You could have come to me…"

Oswald snorted out a derisive laugh and looked away. "Who the hell are you kidding? No-one can talk to you, anymore." His voice took on strength and an accusatory tone. "You left me alone out here, man. Sure, Frank's kept in touch, but he's been through enough hell as it is…." He went on bitterly. "I know my place, man. Don and the others only talk to me if you call me in to help on a case, and Alan's been so worried about you and Frank – so my place is 'last', just like my dad always said it would be." He rolled over in the bed, away from Charlie. "Just leave. Leave me alone."

Charlie reached out a hand as if to stop Oswald from turning away from him, but ended up dragging it through his hair. He stood on shaky legs, and his voice when he spoke was even shakier. "I'm sorry, Oswald, I'm sorry. Please, I'm…." He gasped, and hurried for the door, knowing he was about to be sick. All he did was let people down.

He had let his first friend be murdered, and he had let his last friend try to kill himself. Charlie flung himself into the corridor and all-but collapsed when he ran full-tilt into Don. "He hates me!", he cried, feeling like a fool as he looked up at his brother. "It's all my fault. Everything is all my fault."

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

PS. Thx to everyone for the reviews; please continue to do so! :)

Disclaimer: Let me check. Nope, still don't own…

"…_Joe sighed and threw himself on the bed, wishing again his mother would let him have an iPod. That way he could listen to all the music he wanted while Frank did whatever it was he had to do."_

_--_

Alan pushed through the swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the house proper and found his oldest son standing awkwardly in the living room. "Don! I didn't hear you come in." He half-turned back toward the kitchen. "Would you like some dinner? I just put away the leftovers."

Don halted Alan's progress. "Nah, Dad, I'm good. I was kind-of hoping Charlie was home."

Alan slowly pivoted again and sighed. "He went out this afternoon and hasn't come home, yet. I'm actually a little uncomfortable about that. He's hardly left the house in six months, and now he's gone all day?" He looked suddenly hopeful. "Maybe he's gone to CalSci, to catch up with things there. The new semester starts in a few weeks, and he could be considering getting back to work."

At the frown on Don's face, Alan's surge of hope quickly faded. "I doubt that's it," Don admitted slowly. "He…he had an emotional break down today." He studied his feet for a moment, then looked back up at his father. "Dad… I need to tell you something, but you can't tell anyone else. I'm real worried about Charlie, too."

Alan crossed his arms over his chest as if to ward off the cold and intentionally misunderstood. "Of course you're upset about all he's been through, son. You shouldn't be ashamed of that, Don."

Don ran his hand through his short-cropped hair. "You don't get it, Dad. It's Oswald. He tried to commit suicide last night. Not sure exactly what happened, but someone apparently found him just in time."

Alan's mouth dropped in shock. "What? Oh, no. I knew he seemed depressed sometimes, but I've been so worried about Charlie I must not have paid enough attention…."

Don held up a hand at his father's guilt. "Dad, this is not your fault. Don't even go there. Oswald will be fine. It's Charlie I'm _really_ worried about. Dad, at the hospital today, he was in tears. He _never_ cries. I'm afraid that he might try something himself."

"Never," Alan breathed. "Your brother would never do that."

Don sighed. "Yeah, not the brother I usually have. But he's been through some major hell in the last few months, and sometimes I'm not even sure who this new guy is. He can't forgive himself for letting Fenton 'get away' with his crimes long enough to abuse Frank, and he can't forgive himself for Jessica's death."

Alan protested vehemently. "It's not your brother's fault, Donnie."

"I know, I know. I'm just telling you what I think _he_ thinks."

Alan shuddered. "Well. Now I'm really uncomfortable."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

17-year-old Frank Hardy slammed the phone down after trying for the tenth time to call Oswald. His friend was usually home at this time of day, and Frank was getting worried. Even if he wasn't at home, Oswald should have his cell phone – but Frank had tried that number several times, as well. Oswald hadn't answered anywhere.

He'd left a message on Oswald's voice mail the night before, which he had not returned. That also concerned Frank. Oswald was always ready to talk to him. "Joe, would you turn down that music?" he shouted. "I'm trying to make a call!"

Joe hit the volume control on the DVD's remote and then stormed into the kitchen, annoyed. "If you're trying to make a call, then how come the phone is still in the cradle?"

Frank didn't rise to the bait, but let exasperation leak into his voice. "I'm trying to call Oswald, and he's not answering. I've been trying for two days!"

Joe shrugged. "So call Uncle Alan. Maybe he knows something."

"Good idea," Frank responded, grabbing his mother's phone directory to look up the number. After Fenton had been arrested, his mother had composed a phone book of the people they could still trust. She wanted the boys to know who they could contact, if there was ever trouble.

Joe observed Frank for a moment before he left him alone with the phone again. Winding slowly through the hall toward the bedroom they shared, he tried not to let his brother's distress affect him. In truth, he felt a little guilty – Frank was _annoying_ him more than he was _worrying_ him, lately, and Joe often found himself in the position of dredging up a little more patience.

Considering what their father had put the kid through, Frank had every right to be a whiny little bitch. Joe sighed and threw himself on the bed, wishing again his mother would let him have an iPod. That way he could listen to all the music he wanted while Frank did whatever it was he had to do.

The silence was unnerving, and Joe started twitching his left foot in repeated staccato motions. He was trying to kick off the kernel of nagging worry that was telling him all was not right with the world. Or, with Oswald.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Alan? It's me, Frank."

Frank's concern was raised even further at the distressed distraction evident in the family friend's voice. "Frank. Frank. Good to hear from you, son. How are things?"

"Okay. We're settling in. Mom just started a new job."

"Umm. Yes, she told me. I'm sure Laura will do fine. I know she's nervous about going back to work after all this time. You and your brother aren't giving her a hard time?"

Frank cut right to the chase. "Listen, Alan, do you know what's up with Oswald? I can't reach him, and we usually talk at least once a week. He's not returning my messages. It's not like him."

Silence.

Now Frank was really worried. "Alan? Did something happen?" Panic crept into his voice. "What is it, what's wrong?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – The Window Seat

_Chapter 3 – The Window Seat_

_Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did I'd make great money, but I'd hate the hours. I don't suppose you'd get to make your own hours…?_

"…_Don dropped his arm to his side again and didn't answer. He didn't know how to say that Charlie needed help, himself."_

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Frank sat in a window seat on the crowded aircraft. Normally Joe claimed that position, and it surprised him a little that his brother hadn't put up a bigger fuss about not getting it. Frank had shrugged it off, though, and simply turned his thoughts to Oswald._

_He still hadn't heard from him since he'd talked with Alan, and that had been almost a week ago. He was almost afraid to talk to Oswald now. He hoped Oswald wasn't mad at him. Maybe it was all his fault, somehow. Obviously, Frank had not been a very good friend – he'd had absolutely no clue Oswald was in trouble. The more he thought about how much the young man had done for him in the short time they had known each other, the worse he felt. Within days, he had talked his mother into letting him and Joe go out to L.A. to spend some time with "Uncle Alan". He knew that somehow, he had to get to Oswald and try to help, the way he had helped him._

"_Wow," Joe breathed, interrupting his thoughts. "This is so much cooler than driving all the way across country. And it's such a relief to get away from Mom for awhile!" He hurried on, lest Frank misunderstand. "I mean, I love her, but she's been so protective since…well, you know…and now she's all freaked out about her new job, too. I have no idea how you talked her into this, but I'm sure glad you did!" _

_Frank forced himself to smile slightly. Now, he felt a little guilty about withholding the truth from everyone, too. But Joe was right. Their mother was still in full protection mode, and she never would have let Frank go all the way to L.A. alone to see a suicidal friend. He wasn't really sure why he hadn't leveled with Joe – maybe just because he had long ago developed the habit of looking out for the kid. Frank wasn't sure what they were getting into, yet. He wanted to check things out before he got Joe involved. "This…this is a safer way to travel, too," he finally answered lamely. "Alan will pick us up at the airport."_

"_Cool! I can't wait to see Uncle Alan again. I'm glad Mom is letting him stay a part of our lives." Joe laughed a little nervously. "Can't say I really enjoyed the last time we saw him very much. It will be nice to have a normal visit, don't you think?"_

_Frank sighed and turned his head to stare out the window. Stupid little brothers. Joe had a way of twisting the knife. "Ummm," he grunted. _

_Joe mistook his guilt for apprehension and elbowed him with obvious enjoyment. "Problem, Frankie? How long has it been since you've been on a plane, anyway? You're not getting scared on me, are you?"_

_Frank pulled away from Joe. The younger boy had hit a nerve that truly upset him. Unbidden, memories of his father came rushing back. Fenton had always insisted on driving Frank everywhere, refusing to let him obtain a driver's license, and rarely letting him out of his sight. The last time he had flown had been several years ago, when he and Joe had accompanied their mother to their grandmother's funeral. Even then, Fenton had shown up unexpectedly to drive them home. At the time, everyone had thought it sweet; but Frank had soon learned that far from being concerned about his family, Fenton was only obsessed with controlling their every move. _

_Joe had seen the familiar shadow pass over Frank's face, and was sorry he'd teased him. As he was considering how to apologize, the "fasten seatbelt" lights flashed, and a tiny voice announced their upcoming descent to LAX. Joe tugged at his own belt to make sure it was still secure and changed the subject. "Better put your seat back into the upright position, dude. I think we're going in," he said lightly._

_Frank pulled away from his morbid thoughts and did as his brother suggested. He needed to pull it together if he was going to be any good to Oswald. "Good," he answered. "I'm getting hungry. Alan always has something good to eat."_

_Joe snickered, happy to see Frank's mood improve again. "Yeah, but Don and Charlie do a pretty good job cleaning it all up themselves. Do you think they'll come over for dinner tonight?"_

"_Charlie lives there," Frank reminded him. "I hope Don gets to come by, I'd like to see him. I'm sure Alan made a little extra."_

_Joe laughed again. "Yeah. All we have to worry about now is whether or not the airline lost our luggage."_

_Frank turned back to the window, wishing his brother was right._

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Alan was peering anxiously at the faces surrounding the luggage carousel. "They're not here yet," he said worriedly to Don, who was standing next to him._

_Don rolled his eyes. "Relax, Dad – the plane just landed. It'll take them a few minutes to get through this mess." _

_Alan nodded absentmindedly, but continued to search for Frank and Joe. When he finally spotted the two teenagers with their carry-on bags, he grinned and waved at them, hurrying in their direction. _

"_Hey, Uncle Alan!" Joe called happily when several feet still separated them. Trailing behind his father, Don was relieved to see that the boys seemed relaxed and happy. They had been through a lot, but were proving to be made of resilient stuff. Hopefully, it would help Charlie to see them doing so well._

"_Good to see the both of you," Alan greeted when the space between them was closed. He was careful to shake their hands warmly, saving the bone-crushing hugs for later. "Frank, son, how's your mother's new job?"_

_Years of politeness hopelessly embedded within him, Frank moved to shake Don's hand while he answered. "Very well, sir. She's nervous about going back to work after all this time, but she enjoys being back in it, too – I can tell." _

_Alan smiled. "That's wonderful. I'm sure she'll do very well. Lovely, intelligent woman." He turned slightly to lead the way back toward the pick-up carousel. "Come on, boys. Let's find your luggage and get to the car before we hit the rush hour."_

_Frank let Joe and Alan take the lead and hung back a little to speak lowly to Don. "How is Oswald?", he asked, genuinely concerned._

_Don draped an arm over his shoulder, moving them into place behind the others. "He's okay, kid," he tried to reassure. "He's staying out at the house, too. Charlie talked him into spending a few days there – although he insisted on staying in the garage, again! The hospital released him a couple of days ago. They made him talk to one of their shrinks, first, and gave him some referrals for outpatient therapy."_

"_Is he… angry with me?" Frank asked timidly, not really sure he wanted to hear Don's answer._

"_No, Frank," Don said, not sure if he was talking about Oswald, or Charlie. "I don't think he's angry at anyone. Just sad."_

"_I'm glad he's at the house," Frank admitted. "That way Charlie can help him."_

_Don dropped his arm to his side again and didn't answer. He didn't know how to say that Charlie needed help, himself._


	4. Chapter 4

Charlie puttered half-heartedly around the kitchen, checking again on the stew Alan had started in the slow cooker

CHAPTER FOUR – Stew A La Eppes

"…_Megan shuddered. They had now been working on the Fenton Hardy case for over six months. With the help of several other agencies, over 45,000 men working with Hardy had been apprehended._"

--

Charlie puttered half-heartedly around the kitchen, checking again on the stew Alan had started in the slow cooker. His father had purposely planned a hot meal that would cook itself so that they could all pick up Frank and Joe at the airport and then come home to eat. At the last second, though – literally, his hand on the handle of the car door – Charlie had begged off the mission. He had used Oswald as an excuse. "He'll be back soon from his therapy session," he had claimed. "I don't want him to come home to an empty house."

Alan had been clearly reluctant. He exchanged a glance with Don and protested. "Son, Oswald knows we'll be back as soon as we pick up the boys. We talked about this at lunch."

The look between his father and brother served to make Charlie resentful enough to stand his ground. He let go of the car door and turned toward the house. "There'll be more room in the car for luggage and everything," he muttered, waving them off as he began walking. "Just go. I'll watch dinner."

Dinner didn't require much watching, though, and he wandered around oddly bereft until he heard a knock at the front door. He glanced at his watch as he moved through the living room. Did everyone forget their keys? They couldn't be back this soon, could they?

He answered the door and was surprised to see Megan there. "Hi, Megan." He frowned slightly. "Did you need to see Don? He's with Dad, at the airport…. Something with a case, maybe?"

Megan smiled, trying to put him at ease. "Nothing major, Charlie - just dropping off some casefiles for Don. He mentioned that I might be in time for Alan's stew, but we never confirmed anything. I could stop for Chinese take-out on the way home." Megan was fully aware of Don's schedule, and also counting on Charlie's ingrained politeness. She was a woman on a mission. Don had shared his concerns about Charlie, and asked her to come over and make her own evaluation.

Charlie wasn't raised by Alan Eppes for nothing. As Megan had hoped, he offered a small, tight smile and stepped back from the door. "Nonsense, of course you can join us for dinner. It might be a little while before everyone gets back, though." Megan smiled broadly and followed Charlie into the living room. He ran his hand nervously through his curls and waited for her to sit, then took a seat in Alan's favorite chair a few feet away. "So. Don said he took the afternoon off, but I thought he was kidding."

She laughed. "Yeah, I know what you mean. This is the first real time he's taken off since…well, you know." Megan shuddered. They had now been working on the Fenton Hardy case for over six months. With the help of several other agencies, over 45,000 men working with Hardy had been apprehended.

Even more disheartening to the agents than the overwhelming numbers, over 2,000 of those perps had proven to be double agents. Every conceivable law enforcement agency had been infiltrated, and the ramifications would be endless. More encouraging was the fact that 350 teenagers, who had been kidnapped and enslaved as drug "cookers" and "runners", were now safely home.

Charlie nodded, obviously distraught. As one of Hardy's first victims, he certainly didn't need to be told how diabolical the man was. Charlie's testimony had helped bring the organization down, but it was mostly Frank Hardy's doing. Frank had slipped into their lives and managed to turn everything upside down. The boy's father, Fenton, had shipped him to Alan, thinking his old friend was an easy way to get rid a loose end, temporarily.

He didn't need Frank talking about things he had suffered at the hands of Fenton Hardy. Unfortunately for Fenton, Frank had found the security and acceptance amongst the Eppes and Oswald Kittner that encouraged him to spill everything. Frank's story had triggered long-repressed memories in Charlie, who had remembered witnessing Fenton's involvement in the murder of Charlie's childhood friend, Jessica.

Now, he found himself both repulsed and curious. "How is that going?", he asked. Don had intentionally kept his little brother out of the loop on this one, and Charlie hadn't protested. He'd practically been living in a fog the last six months. Now, however, talking with Megan, he felt a jolt of suppressed interest.

"Slowly," Megan hedged, knowing Don's opinion of Charlie's further involvement in this case. She tried to change the subject. "How about you? Larry says you're not teaching this semester." She was careful not to mention Don, even though he was the one most concerned about Charlie's continued withdrawal from everyone and everything.

Charlie bristled defensively. She could practically see his long curls frizz out, reminding her of an offended cat. "Not yet. I think I'm entitled to a little down time. And speaking of Larry, why didn't you bring him with you?" Charlie was suspicious, now. He knew Megan and Larry were an item, to the point where it was unusual for one of them to spend the evening alone.

Megan silently blessed Millie and her last-minute faculty meetings. "Your division head called an impromptu meeting tonight," she sighed. "I wish Alan would date her more seriously – it might keep her from ruining everyone else's plans so often!"

Charlie's ruffled feathers smoothed a bit and a grin played at his mouth. "Are those my only choices? Impromptu faculty meetings, or my father dating my boss?"

Megan laughed. "I see your point. And of course you deserve a little down time, by the way." She looked at him seriously. "Is it helping, Charlie? How have you been, really?"

Charlie sighed and looked away. "Okay. I don't know. This thing with Oswald has really thrown me. I feel like I haven't been seeing anyone but myself, lately. I've been such a failure as a friend. Probably a lousy brother and son, too."

Megan spoke gently. "Charlie, that's not true. Sometimes we all get a little self-focused, and if anybody has a right to that right now, it's you. No one is disappointed in you. We all just wish there was some way we could help."

Charlie reddened and blinked rapidly, and was saved from a response by the sound of his father's car in the driveway. He sprang from the chair nervously, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Oh," he stated, somewhat unnecessarily. "They're home. They must be home." Inwardly Megan cursed the timing; she had felt that Charlie was going to open up there, for a moment. Reluctantly she rose from the couch and followed him through the front door and out onto the sidewalk to meet the newest arrivals.

Alan greeted her warmly on the sidewalk. "Megan! What a pleasure to see you, dear!" He hugged her quickly and peered over her shoulder. "Is Larry with you? No matter, you'll both stay for dinner. Frank and Joe are back, did Charlie tell you?" He pulled back and half-turned back toward the car. "Where is Charlie?"

Megan laughed. "Sometimes I almost can't keep up with you, Alan! No, Larry has a meeting tonight; yes, I'm looking forward to Stew a la Eppes; yes, both your sons told me that the Hardys were due for a visit; and I think I see Charlie behind that luggage. He's about to wipe us both off the sidewalk."

Alan _tsked_ at the approaching disaster and grabbed Megan's elbow, corralling her toward the living room. "Come," he ordered.

"Sit, sit." Another set of tires crunched into the driveway and Alan smiled. "Ah, Oswald is just in time for dinner as well. Nothing finer than hungry mouths to feed, my dear!"

"Please, let me help," Megan offered, but Alan waved her toward the couch.

"Nonsense, nonsense. Just take a minute. You sit and visit with the boys." Not waiting for an answer, he scurried off happily for his kitchen.

The remaining Eppes soon followed through the front door, followed by the Hardy brothers. All were carrying assorted luggage, and Megan wondered how long the boys intended to stay. Don unceremoniously dumped his at the bottom of the stairs. While Charlie pushed past him toward the ground-floor guest room, Don raised his eyebrows at Megan. "Hey," he intoned. "Did you…bring me the files?"

She nodded and picked up his ruse. "Yes. I'm afraid it's not exactly what you wanted, though. Frank, Joe – good to see you both again! You're looking well!"

Frank started to follow Charlie to the guest room, but he took time to blush endearingly. "Thanks, Agent Reeves. Come on Joe, let's dump this stuff in the room before dinner." He called back over his shoulder. "Just leave that stuff there, Don. Joe'll come back for it!"

"Hey!", protested Joe. "That's not even my suitcase, you jerk!" The boys bickered their way good-naturedly out of the room.

Don followed them for a while with his eyes and then looked again at Megan. "Little brothers," he commented, a little sadly. "They can be a real pain in the ass."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Or Maybe Just One Person

_Chapter Five: Or Maybe Just One Person_

"…_Charlie tried to drum up an appropriate response, but all he could think was: Great. Damn bloodhounds tracked me, already."_

--

Frank and Oswald were involved in a deep conversation over Alan's stew and crusty bread. There had been no awkward moments between them at all, which was a relief to everyone. The two had simply started talking animatedly as if they had never been apart. "It's cool you could come back for a while before you start your new school," Oswald mentioned.

Frank nodded, happy his friend didn't suspect he had come back to town just to check up on him. "Yeah. I'm not sure about that, sometimes. New place, new teachers, new students – but I'm sure everyone will recognize us."

"Or maybe just one person," put in Joe. "But that's enough, you know? Word gets around."

Oswald seemed to deflate a little. "Know what you mean. Sometimes it would be nice not to think about this all the time."

At the other end of the table, Megan was noticing that Charlie's hand had been twisting his long curls continuously almost since the Hardys and Oswald had arrived. While he had let his guard down a little with her, one-on-one, he seemed to grow more overwhelmed and anxious with each passing moment. She could understand Don's concern.

"Charlie," Alan gently admonished, "You're not eating, son. This is one of your favorites."

Charlie looked at him with wide eyes, a deer caught in the headlights, and found himself speechless. Unaware of the underlying drama at the other end of the table, Joe called out. "It's sure becoming one of mine, Uncle Alan! This is great!"

Alan was successfully distracted, and beamed. "Thank you, Joe! Do you boys have anything planned for tomorrow?"

"Whatever it is, I wish I could take another few days off and hang," Don mumbled. "I guess the good news is this case has really upped our solve rate."

Alan frowned reproachfully. "Now, Donnie. Your solve rate was one of the highest in the Bureau, anyway!" He looked back at the younger men. "So?"

Oswald shrugged. "Frank and I will find something to do. Joe too, if he wants. Maybe we'll hit the batting cages again. I don't have any appointments…." He stopped, suddenly embarrassed, and looked at Charlie. "How about you, Charlie? You wanna hang with us tomorrow?"

Even Charlie, in his haze, recognized the hopefulness in Oswald's voice. It instigated a crushing pressure in his chest, for some reason, and Charlie grew even more uncomfortable as everyone turned to stare at him. He scrambled for an excuse. "Uh…I…I thought I might go by campus tomorrow. See how things are."

The statement caused Megan to nearly drop her fork. Charlie hadn't said anything that evening that had even hinted at such a thing. Maybe their brief talk had helped, and he was finally making progress.

Still oblivious, Joe put in his two cents' worth. "I'll probably just stay with Uncle Alan," he mused. He knew Frank wanted some time alone with Oswald. He looked at Alan with a twinkle in his eye. "Could you maybe take me golfing? My old school had a team, but this new one doesn't. I'm going to miss it."

Don snorted into his stew and Alan's face split wide into a smile. "You want to go golfing? Oh, Joe…I think I can handle that."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie paced his room. He must have had too much caffeine today. Maybe too much truth. Definitely too many walls closing in on him. His brains were practically scrambled. He couldn't think clearly, and all he wanted to do was go out to the garage and work on the numbers. Cognitive emergence, or P vs. NP or counting the grains of dust that flew off the chalk – it didn't really matter.

He couldn't, though. Oswald was there. He had to let Oswald sleep. Sleep was good. At least, if memory served, sleep was good. He hadn't been doing much of it himself, lately.

Charlie was exhausted. And he wasn't exactly thrilled that he had said he would go to CalSci in the morning. What the hell had be been _thinking_?

He turned to pace to the other end of his bedroom and admitted that Oswald had done it. Oswald's comment – "no-one can talk to you anymore" – still echoed in his head. In his heart, Charlie knew that Oswald was right. He'd been living in the memories for the past six months. He hadn't even been able to focus on his work. Everything had been a blur, and more than once a few days went by before noticed. Oh, sure, he'd gotten out of bed; he'd dressed, he'd showered. But that was all mechanical; he was still living in the fog, he was still living in the moment. He couldn't get away from the moment.

He sighed and sat on the edge of his bed, and stared longingly at the pillow. Don said once that his head was a bad neighborhood to be in. He had no idea.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Everyone was out the door, in three different directions, by 9:30. Alan and Joe took off for the club; Frank and Oswald left for the batting cages; and Charlie reported somewhat reluctantly to CalSci. He was tired before he got there, and exhausted after a few minutes of greeting colleagues and students. To his dismay, Millie had promised to stop by his office in a few hours to discuss his return to classes. Finally, he sat alone behind his massive desk, trying to rub away a headache, and marveled that he had never noticed before HOW LOUD this place was. Even through a closed door, the cacophony was indescribable. All he wanted to do was to hide under his iPod and drown everyone out, with "Three Days Grace". He was glad that they had welcomed him back, but he just wanted him to shut up so he could think.

He powered up his computer and looked up at a rap on the door. Before he even answered, the door swung open, revealing a smiling Amita and a grinning Larry. Charlie tried to drum up an appropriate response, but all he could think was: Great. Damn bloodhounds tracked me, already.

--

For lunch after the cages, Frank and Oswald stopped at Wendy's. Grabbing one of the few open booths, Frank seemed a little distracted. Oswald didn't fail to notice this. He'd seemed fine all morning, but now…

"What?" Oswald asked.

"I dunno," Frank said. He sighed. He had faked it with Oswald as long as he could, and the moment of truth had arrived. "I didn't – dammit, Oswald, why didn't you tell me? I was so worried; I couldn't get ahold of you. I had to call Alan. Dude, this is all my fault, isn't it?"

Oswald sighed. He pushed his sandwich away. "You were dealing with enough already. I didn't want to burden you with more. And it's not your fault…"

"It wouldn't have been a burden!" Frank interrupted. "You're my friend, Oswald! Most of my '_friends'_ and I don't talk anymore. No one has really tried to keep in touch since my dad. I thought it was different with you, I thought we were really friends. Friendship works both ways, Oswald. I want – no, I need – to be there for you, too!" He stopped, a little ashamed to be getting angry at someone who just tried to kill himself.

Oswald's mouth gaped open and closed reminding Frank of the koi in Alan's pond. "Geez, Frank," he finally stuttered. "Don't pull any punches, or anything."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six Chapter Six: Parking Problems

"…_. He jingled his car keys nervously all the way to the faculty parking lot, where he suddenly stopped, confused. _

_He had no idea in hell where he was parked."_

--

--

The janitor in the back was watching them a little too closely, trying to remember where he'd seen the kid in the jacket and brown hair before. He knew he'd seen him somewhere… Where had he seen him?

Definitely not here. He paid very little attention to the people he saw here, this was only a temporary job and he didn't intend to make any friends. Not that the little pimply-faced jerks were worth his time, anyway. It wasn't fair, that after years in Fenton Hardy's employ, he was reduced to….

He snapped his fingers, the broom he was holding dropping with a clatter to the tile. Son of an everlovin' bitch, that was it. That was Fenton's oldest kid, Frank. The one who had ruined everything, ripping him from his comfortable employ as a drug runner and glorified errand boy. He began to fume. As a second-generation Hardy employee, he had been a "legacy" – Fenton was very loyal about that sort of thing. Even though he had proven to be a little behind the curve, he was kept on the payroll and paid very well. Certainly better than this minimum-wage excuse for a job. Since Hardy went down, his wife left him and he was barely one step ahead of the law all the time. And it was all this kid's fault.

"Hey, you!" The screechy voice of his 16-year-old boss shook him from his thoughts and momentarily drew his attention from the Hardy kid. "Get back to work, man! We need these floors swept and mopped! Last I checked, we didn't pay people to stand around doing nothing!"

"Shut the hell up!" he yelled back angrily, kicking the broom at the jerk. Everyone in the dining room turned to stare at the commotion, including Frank and his companion, and he glared at them over his manager's shoulder. Stupid, short little pipsqueak. "I hate working here! You know what? I quit! I fucking quit!" Trying to think of a gesture to make, he finally settled for ripping off his official smock and throwing it in the jerk's face.

"Fine!" his manager shouted, after a moment of stunned silence. The teenager was way too young to be in charge of a shift -- even if his father was the owner, it was preposterous – and he wasn't sure how to handle this old, angry loser his dad never should have hired in the first place. He felt the eyes of the other employees on them and puffed up importantly. "You're fired anyway!"

"You can't fire me, I quit, you stupid little idiot," Hardy's ex-employee ranted, watching Oswald and Frank slip out the door in the middle of the mêlée and head for a car in the lot. "Get outta my way," he growled, pushing the kid aside on his way to follow them.

He was going to make Fenton's kid pay for this.

--

Frank settled in the passenger seat of Oswald's car and laughed nervously. "Dinner with a show. L.A. has everything," he joked.

Oswald snickered. "Hope I didn't rush you out of there. All that yelling made me nervous."

"I know what you mean," answered Frank, secretly very glad they were only a few miles from Alan's house. "I felt like that guy kept staring at me."

Oswald tried to change the subject. "We could go to a movie, tomorrow."

Frank shook his head. "Maybe the cages again, or the mall. I've had enough of theater for a while."

Oswald laughed again. "Yeah," he agreed, "Hey, we'll ask Joe again, too." He slowed to take a corner, and neither boy noticed the dark, dirty sedan that followed them closely.

--

After lunch, which he was forced to eat with Amita and Larry, Charlie still couldn't focus on his work. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't. He'd even managed to blow up a printer in the division office. No matter how much Amita insisted that it was about to go anyway, it still depressed the hell out of Charlie and made him think things like how well the malfunction fit in with his current life.

Amita was in and out of his office every five minutes. If he wasn't claustrophobic before, he sure was now. Didn't she have any work of her own? The last time she had popped into his office, he'd yelled at her to leave him alone. Then Larry had come in, and he'd yelled at him, too. Needless to say, he had been less than receptive to Millie's suggestion that he come back to a full class load within the week. In actuality, he had threatened never to come back at all and march directly to administration to tender his resignation. Then he had thrown her out.

Charlie had given up for the day and followed soon after, slinking out when he knew both Larry and Amita were in class. He jingled his car keys nervously all the way to the faculty parking lot, where he suddenly stopped, confused.

He had no idea in hell where he was parked.

Giving up without much of a fight, he veered to the left and the small park that seemed like part of the campus. Within minutes, he slumped onto the first bench he saw. He was feeling woozy, and his stomach hurt. Just like every other day. When he went home, he would have to face Frank, and Oswald. Charlie guiltily wished the Hardy brothers hadn't come for a visit. They were a slap in the face; something else to remind him of what happened. He wished that he had been able to save Jessica; he wished that she really had run away; he wished he had told someone about Fenton. Oh, how he wished he'd told, or at least found some other way to stop it!

Dark thoughts hit him like a wave. He was so exhausted. He hated himself. Jessica – his fault. Oswald – his fault. He'd let his friend get depressed; he hadn't even noticed he was sick. This was all his fault. He was so caught up with his own problems that he hadn't noticed Oswald getting more and more depressed.

And now, Oswald hated him for it.

Everything that happened was his fault. Everything. No matter how much other people tried to convince him otherwise, he was sure he was a screw-up.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. He wanted so badly to take back the last twenty years; to give Frank a better life; to give Jessica _a _life. It was his fault that Jessica was dead. He should have, and could have, stopped it.

If he had stopped it, Fenton Hardy would be behind bars where he belonged, with Jeff Henderson. Jessica would be alive, and a mother herself by now. Oswald wouldn't have tried to commit suicide. And Frank wouldn't have that tight, guarded look on his face that Charlie could see creeping in when no-one else was looking.

It was all his fault.


	7. Chapter 7

Frank settled in the passenger seat of Oswald's car and laughed nervously Chapter 7 – Without A Trace

"…'_Frankie, boy. Your friend ain't feeling too great. 'Lessen you want him dead, you'd best come with me. Real nice and quiet, like.'"_

--

Joe awoke the next morning with a happy smile on his face. It was so nice to be here; he felt relaxed for the first time in a long while. Plus, he could tell that his brother was really enjoying the time with Oswald.

The ground floor guest room at the Eppes' contained a daybed, and the Hardy brothers took turns in a sleeping bag on the floor. Alan thought they were crazy – there were two more perfectly good guest rooms on the second floor – but the boys preferred to be in the same room. Alan had finally brought in one of the camping air mattresses from the garage and left them to themselves. Now, Joe sat on the edge of the bed and kicked at Frank, who was taking his turn in the sleeping bag. "Frank!" he called. "Frank, come on, let's go, it's time for breakfast."

The sleeping bag moved and his brother grumbled. "Morning already?" the elder boy groaned. "Ugh. I think I just went to bed."

Joe laughed. "What, d'ya think you're on vacation or something? Hurry up, Uncle Alan and I are playing in a foursome today."

As if his name conducted some sort of magic, Alan's voice was the next one heard, after a brief rap on the door. "Boys! Breakfast! Come on; let's eat and get this show on the road!"

Frank began to struggle to sit up. "I can't believe you're going golfing again. Don't you want to hang out with me and Oswald at all?"

Joe reached for his jeans and looked at his brother's face so he could tell whether or not the sulking tone was a put-on. He figured that it was. Just in case, though, he stated his opinion on the matter clearly.

"Come on, Frank, you know that's not true. The foursome is only playing nine holes this morning. Uncle Alan said he'll drop me off at the mall this afternoon to meet you guys, after you hit the cages."

Frank smirked, finally up and reaching for his own clothes. "You're a regular travel agent, Joe. Got the whole thing figured out for all of us."

Joe threw a tennis shoe at Frank. "Shut-up. I haven't told you yet about the concert this evening."

-- Charlie left the house when everyone else did, carrying his backpack. Alan happily assumed that his son was off to CalSci, again. Instead, Charlie drove to the downtown bus depot and purchased a day ticket with several transfers. He got on the first bus that stopped, not caring where it was headed. He just wanted to disappear.

--

Despite his teasing attitude with Joe that morning, Frank soon found that he couldn't concentrate at the batting cages that morning. His head hurt and he kept missing easy pitches, and handed Oswald the bat after he struck out. "Are you okay?" Oswald asked, concerned.

Frank shook his head. "I can't concentrate. I feel like someone's watching us. On top of that I don't feel all that great. I'll be fine… I just need to sit down. Maybe Alan's right about the whole sleeping on the floor thing."

Oswald frowned. "We don't have to stay. We can go back to the house – maybe order some pizza later for lunch, kick back and watch some DVDs. We'll call Alan's cell and tell Joe we're skipping the mall, today." Frank really didn't look like he felt good at all, and Oswald didn't want him getting sick.

Frank shrugged. "Okay. Thanks. Sounds good. Maybe it's jet lag, or something."

A dirty sedan tailed them all the way to the Craftsman, but Oswald was so busy checking on Frank that he didn't notice. The younger boy had fallen asleep, slumped into the passenger window, and Oswald was pretty sure pizza wasn't happening, either.

He pulled into the driveway, and Frank still didn't wake up.

Oswald gently got out of the car, intending to walk around to wake Frank up. After a few steps, he saw a dingy car pulling in behind his, and hesitated. Must be someone looking for Alan, or Charlie. Maybe he should deal with this guy first, and then wake up his friend.

Decision made, Oswald started for the strange car.

--

Stan swung out of the car to meet him, gripping a tire iron. The first time he hit him, he thought about the fact that he had gone from averaging 1,000 a day to minimum wage. Because. Of. That. Damn. Kid. Oswald dropped like a lead weight, which was a little disappointing – he wanted to crack his skull again. No matter. He kicked him solidly in the ribs and checked to make sure no one had witnessed the altercation. The Hardy kid had slept through it all, and the quiet street remained empty. Bending over, he used his considerable muscle to manhandle the skinny little pain in the ass.

He didn't know who the hell this was, but he seemed to be with Fenton's kid all the time. He dragged him a few feet and then wrestled him into the back seat of the car. He slammed the door, grinning widely when he had to open it again and tuck Oswald's hand inside farther – what a shame; he seemed to have some broken fingers, now.

He stooped to grab the tire iron off the ground, and then straightened, and plodded methodically for the passenger side of Oswald's car.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Strong hands gripped him as he fell out of the door, which had opened suddenly. Confused, Frank looked at the stranger with wide eyes and stuttered. "Wha? Where? Oswald?"

A jack-o-lantern grin sent chills up his spine. "Frankie, boy. Your friend ain't feeling too great. 'Lessen you want him dead, you'd best come with me. Real nice and quiet, like."

Frank was suddenly wide-awake, and terrified. Had his dad somehow gotten out of prison? Or had he reached out somehow and paid someone to grab him? Where was Oswald? And what about Joe? Would Joe be okay?

The man grabbed the corner of his sweatshirt and yanked him back toward the grungy car. Frank weakly pulled against him, but his own fear combined with his lethargy and illness to make his struggles completely ineffectual. He started to yell, once, but the brute seemed to sense when he was about to try. He suddenly pulled Frank into a headlock, clamping a sweaty hand over his mouth. His forearm pressed heavily into Frank's neck, and he could feel the world growing dim as his struggles grew even weaker.

Frank wasn't even conscious when he was thrown into the trunk, and the hood was firmly latched.

-- Joe sat sullenly in the passenger seat of Alan's car, and the Patriarch Eppes felt badly for him. He could understand Frank and Oswald wanting to spend time together, but the fact was that they had invited Joe to accompany them. They had practically insisted that he meet them at the mall for lunch and an afternoon of "whatever". Thank goodness Alan had decided to join them all for lunch and had not dropped Joe off in the parking lot, or something. He fumed quietly. He was going to give those boys "what-for", that was for sure. He understood that everyone had been through a lot this year – that was all the more reason to treat each other with respect, as far as he was concerned. It wasn't like either one of them to hurt Joe's feelings like this.

Alan glanced at his passenger as he turned into the driveway of his home. "We still have those DVDs we rented yesterday," he offered. "And there's always ice cream in this house. Let's make an afternoon of it."

Joe frowned slightly. "Maybe we got our wires crossed. Oswald's car is here…." He looked at Alan apprehensively. "Both car doors are open. Why would they leave the doors open?"

Alan turned his attention back to the forefront and saw that Joe was right. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he shut the engine off, then honked the horn a number of times. "Let's get them out here," he suggested. While they waited, Alan's eyes searched the rest of the driveway. The sun glinted off something metal tucked under one of the rosebushes near Oswald's car. Alan squinted, and recognized a tire iron. He looked back at the car, and saw that no tires were flat. Joe unlatched his seat belt and prepared to open the door, but Alan reached out to stop him. "Wait, son." He reached for his cell phone, yanking it from his belt. "Let me call them."

Joe looked at him, eyebrows raised. "What? Why?"

Alan just shook his head, and listened to the house answering machine pick up. Quickly, he speed-dialed first Oswald, then Frank. On that third call, the tinny sound of a ring tone drifted through the open car windows. "Uncle Alan!", Joe exclaimed. "Look! There's a cell phone on the ground over there near the back of the car! Who did you call?"

In one motion Alan dropped his cell in Joe's lap and started the car engine again. "Call Don," he instructed brusquely. "Speed dial 1. Something's not right here. Have him meet us down at the convenience store." Joe's mouth gaped and he just looked at Alan, who repeated himself. "CALL DON! JOE, DO IT NOW!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don was already on edge when the telephone rang. One of the busts had gone bad; there wasn't anyone at the place where the perp was supposed to be. They were still trying to round everyone up more than six months after it all hit the fan, and it was driving Don crazy. He felt badly for not being able to spend more time with Charlie; and when he was with him, he was always censoring everything he said. Charlie didn't need to hear all this crap. He sighed, recognizing his father's ring tone and flipped the cell open. "Eppes," he grunted out of habit. "I mean, Hi, Dad. What's up?"

Joe spoke in a panicked rush. "Your Dad is driving. He says you should meet us at that little store near the house. Something's wrong, and Oswald and Frank are gone! Uncle Alan is really freakin' me out!"

Don straightened in his chair. "What? Is this Joe? What's happening? Let me talk to my Dad."

There was a small rustling sound, and then Alan's voice bellowed in his ear. "Donnie, it's all wrong. There's a tire iron, and the car doors are open, and no one is answering his phone. I felt…hinky, Don, isn't that what you always say? Please, son, can you come back to the house with us?"

Don stood, and somewhere in his conscious registered the fact that his team stood with him. "Stay put, Dad," he ordered. "We're on the way."


	8. Chapter 8

PLEASE REVIEW, IT'S MUCH APRECHIATED. (EVEN IF YOU DONT DO IT FOR ME, DO IT FOR MY BETA. SHE WORKED HARD. THANKS TO ALL WHO HAVE REVIEWED!)

"…_Hardy had been found guilty of a myriad of federal charges, and had been sentenced to ten consecutive death sentences – as if one wouldn't do the trick." _

_F__lashback…_

"_Three, two, one, go," Fenton shouted, quickly releasing Joe's hand from his grasp. Joe toppled to the floor and picked himself up before attempting to run out of the room. _

_He made it to the door but at that moment Fenton grabbed him by his hoodie and slammed him violently against the wall. "A 98, Joe? Are you that stupid? You know Social Services comes after people whose kids get that kind of grade," he hissed angrily. "Not only THAT, but Harvard won't accept you with anything less than perfect scores!" _

"_I-I'm sorry, Dad, I'll try and get better next time," Joe stuttered, knowing exactly what his father wanted to hear._

_Fenton dropped Joe to the floor again. "Go do your homework, and try not to piss me off again. If it's not done in an hour, I'm taking you to Jeff's." _

_Joe's face paled slightly at the threat, and he ran up the stairs, his shoulders shaking. There was no way he could get all his homework done in an hour! There was no way he could do that!_

_He wished Frank was there. Or his mother. Either one would keep him from going to his uncle's. But his mother was at work and wouldn't be home until late, and Fenton had sent Frank away to somebody's house, again._

_He remembered his father's threat, and turned shakily back to the desk. He couldn't go to Jeff's…_

_--End flashback--_

"Easy, Joe," Don said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "We'll find him. It'll be okay. Megan went to pick your mom up from the airport, and she'll be here in no time."

Joe nodded, but he was still terrified. Ever since he realized that Frank was truly missing, he couldn't pull his mind out of the flashbacks that threatened to overwhelm him. "He has him, Don, I know he does," he wailed.

Don sighed. He knew Joe was referring to his father, the once respected Private Investigator Fenton Hardy.

Fenton's supposed "PI" business was really just a cover for the drug operation he was running. Hardy had been found guilty of a myriad of federal charges, and had been sentenced to ten consecutive death sentences – as if one wouldn't do the trick. Don repeated his promise to the teenager. "We'll find him, Joe, I promise. Both Frank, and Fenton." Fenton had escaped earlier that day in a prison riot. The maximum-security prison he was in had a brief lapse in security, and all hell broke loose. Fenton, along with another prisoner, had escaped.

The F.B.I. agent was dismayed when rather than being reassured, Joe burst out into a fresh round of tears. He buried his face in his sweater and refused to look at Don for a few minutes. At length he unburied himself, but pointedly looked away from Don before explaining. "That's what Dad always said about Frank. Every time he hit me, he promised he would kill Frank if I ever told anyone!" Joe paused and looked around the room. "When Dad sent Frank here, I was sure it was my fault, that he had sent Frank to be killed because I screwed up. I sort-of remembered Alan, but I wasn't sure my Dad was telling the truth about him taking care of Frank… A day after Frank got sent away, he sent me to Jeff's… and…" Joe broke off and started crying again. "This is all my fault…. I never should have told anybody…"

"It's not your fault, Joe," Don said, his voice low and comforting. He sighed, never comfortable with this part of the job. It was difficult enough with strangers, but particularly impossible with family, or friends. Oswald, or anyone else for that matter, would be so much better at this. Don swallowed thickly, worried about the young statistician as much as he was concerned about Frank. He projected a practiced strength he did not necessarily feel into his voice, especially when his own brother was missing. "It's not your fault. You understand me?"

Joe shrugged, his head craning around at the sound of the front door opening. "Mom, … Mom, I'm sorry…"

Don sighed. So much for the talk. He moved to help his father with Laura's bags, pausing quickly to reassure the woman that everything was being done to find her oldest son. She smiled wanly, and he noted how tired she looked. She blinked red-rimmed eyes at him and thanked him softly, then headed directly for her youngest. "It's not your fault, Joe," she said, wrapping him in her arms. The two stood, clinging to each other, for the space of time it took for Don and Alan to bring her luggage into the house. Finally, Laura looked at Don over Joe's shoulder, and stiffened her own. "Any leads?"

Don sighed. No, there were no leads, but he didn't want to tell that to Laura. "We have an APB on Fenton right now," he started, but the former Mrs. Hardy cut him off at the pass.

"Spare the formalities, Don, I've been through this before," she snapped. "Any leads, or not?"

"No," Don admitted, "but we've got a lot of manpower looking for Fenton right now. We'll find him, Laura, don't worry."

"I'm not worried about that," Laura replied impatiently. "What I'm worried about is what he's going to do to Frank well you're looking for him."

Don sighed again and glanced at his father, who had so far been a silent witness to their conversation. That wasn't like Alan, and Don knew it was because he was worried about Charlie. Hell, so was he. "Heard from him, yet?"

"No." Alan rubbed at his forehead wearily. "Amita and Larry both say that he never showed up at school today." He paused and glanced at the sky. "You don't think…" he started, his voice trailing off at the end.

Don avoided his father's question. "Don't worry, Dad. I called in some favors over at LAPD. Watch the commander has an unofficial BOLO out on the car." He glanced back at Laura, who was smoothing Joe's hair, talking softly to him and trying to calm him down. "She's really angry," he commented absentmindedly.

His father nodded. "She's been through a war, Don. She feels as if it's her fault that her sons were abused. She probably believes she should have seen through Fenton's schemes. She must be angry that her sons didn't feel safe enough to confide in her." He sighed, and looked away. "Not to mention she's scared. For all we know, that bastard has his filthy hands on one of her sons, again!"

Don glanced at him, totally amazed at both his father's insight, and his uncharacteristic language. "How do you know all that?"

"Because, Donny," Alan said, his voice breaking a little bit, "I feel the same way."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………


	9. Chapter 9

PLEASE REVIEW!! Thanks to everyone else who reviewed!

"…_As for how anyone got through – how the hell would I know, Donny? I'm not an FBI agent! I never heard anything. And I was in the living room!" _

_Thank you to Fraidycat for beta-ing! _

_Thank you to Angelica for a sentence to start me off! Its somewhere in here._

--

At first, Frank didn't move a muscle when he awoke on the cold cement floor. He was used to "playing possum"; years of abuse had trained him well, and he knew that if no one suspected he was awake, he'd be better off in the long run. He glanced around the dimly lit basement, searching fearfully for the man who had dumped him there, and was startled to spot Oswald several feet away. He was slumped half-sitting and half-lying against the far wall, and appeared to be sleeping – or worse. Frank shuddered, hoping desperately his friend wasn't dead. "Oswald?" he croaked, forgetting about self-preservation and pushing himself up painfully and crawling across the floor. "Oswald, are you all right?"

Oswald didn't awaken, which concerned Frank. Frank gently touched the bruises on the side of his friend's head, and winced. Shit. He never should have gotten them into this mess. If only he'd kept his silence! If only… "I'm sorry, Oswald," he muttered, more to himself than to his apparently unconscious companion.

Frank grimaced as he thought about the last several hours. He knew that the man who had overpowered them had no mask covering his face, which scared him. This guy obviously wasn't worried about leaving witnesses who could identify him. What worried Frank even more was the possibility that somehow his father had escaped prison and was behind this whole thing. If that was true, not only were he and Oswald in trouble, Joe was too. Fenton had said repeatedly that he would kill him. If so, it was only a matter of time before Joe was dead.

Oswald grunted and started jerk upwards a bit, startling Frank out of his thoughts. Oswald raised a shaking hand toward his head. "Where am I?" he groaned as he tried to open his eyes.

He yelped when he made contact with the bruising, and Frank gently pulled his hand away from his head. "I think we're in an abandoned basement in nowheresville," he answered, noticing for the first time that Oswald was holding his other hand in an awkward position in his lap. He took a closer look and winced when he saw Oswald's fingers. "I'm sorry, man. If you hadn't been with me, you never woulda gotten into this whole mess…I never should've come back to L.A.!"

"Don' blame yours'f," Oswald said. He was slurring his words, and Frank's worry skipped up a notch. He must have been hit pretty hard.

The door to the basement flew open and Frank's head jerked up. When he recognized the man in the doorway, he wondered for a moment if he had been hit in the head as well. He could think of no other way it made sense. Apparently, the janitor from Wendy's had kidnapped them. The idiot was still in his uniform. The kidnapper glared at Frank, and indicated Oswald with a toss of his head. "Who is he?" he demanded. "Why is he with you?"

Frank didn't know what to say. They were friends; sure, that was why they were together. But Oswald was also connected to the FBI. Frank knew that revealing that information could go two ways. It could save Oswald's life, or it could end up killing him.

While he was trying to decide how much to say, a shadow crossed the kidnapper's face, and it seemed that he had come close enough to figuring things out on his own.

"Is he your bodyguard? God, he's FBI or something, isn't he? That's why he's with you."

As dangerous as their predicament was, Frank was seized by a nearly uncontrollable urge to laugh at the idea of Oswald as a bodyguard. A bodyguard? Sure, Oswald was tough, but a bodyguard? Weren't FBI – and most other, for that matter -- bodyguards usually three hundred, four hundred pounds? Oswald was about 90, soaking wet.

Frank looked at Oswald to see what he thought of the image, and was distressed to see his friend's eyes were closed again. Oh, crap, he thought, jerking his head back around when the kidnapper echoed his thoughts aloud.

"Oh crap. I did, didn't I? I kidnapped a friggin' Fed!"

Frank opened his mouth to say something, but it was too late. Stan had ripped his gun out of his pocket.

"You're a dead man," Stan hissed, aiming the gun at Oswald. Before Frank could try anything, his world went black.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"I gotta take this," Don said to the hospital's early-morning clerk, who was trying to talk to him about the paperwork. Both she and Don were exhausted, a bad combination, exacerbated by Don's infernal distaste for pushing papers. Don had rushed to the hospital after he'd received an emergency telephone call from LAPD. Someone had found Oswald, shot, lying in the middle of nowhere… abandoned and left for dead. Shuddering at the heartlessness of the kidnapper, Don stepped away and answered his cell phone. "Hey, Dad. Everything all right?"

"Both Laura and Joe are gone! They're not here – at all!" Alan's voice was understandably frantic over the telephone. "I looked everywhere, Don. There's no sign of a struggle, and not even the security detail has seen them. I guess they could have been taken any time during the night; one of the policemen on duty did admit he stepped off for a cup of coffee on his break. Charlie never came back, Donny; I'm worried about him. How's Oswald?"

Don groaned. They had security around the house 24/7! How the hell could Fenton get in, or anybody for that matter? Don had ordered that nobody be let in except his team. The security detail was to stay outside the house – period. "Damn, that is _not_ good. I'm trapped here at the hospital; they want me to sign a bunch of papers for Oswald so they can operate, and give him meds. Aren't Megan and Colby there? I thought they were coming. And how the hell did anybody get past the radar? And what security detail? Dad, I told you they wouldn't switch noticeably..."

"The team's on their way; well, Megan and Colby at least, but I thought you should know right away," Alan answered. "As for how anyone got through – how the hell would I know, Donny? I'm not an FBI agent! I never heard anything. And I was in the living room!"

Don sighed. He had no clue how anybody had gotten in, and, for some, strange, odd, reason, he had a feeling it wasn't Fenton who had broken into the house. "I know, I know," he soothed, exasperated. "Thanks for telling me, Dad. I'll be there as soon as I can… Gotta finish this damn paperwork."

Alan spoke quickly before Don could disconnect. "You still haven't told me about Oswald." Don plainly heard the concern in his voice. "Did you say they're going to operate?"

Don tried to reassure his father. "He'll make it, but he won't be able to tell us anything for awhile…" He sighed. "They've got to get the bullet out, but he'll be okay." He repeated the words, more to reassure himself than his father. "He'll be okay."

"Is he conscious? Have you spoken to him, yet?" Alan sighed, frustrated, and Don could practically hear him frown. "I wish I could come and stay with him, but I don't know which end is up, anymore! My son is missing, my houseguests are missing, Oswald is shot…"

Don felt his father's pain, and ran his hand through his hair in his own frustration. "Dad, Dad, just take a breath. Stay at the house, and wait for Charlie. Don't let anyone in – I mean not LAPD, or _any_body – except my team. Got it? I'll be there as I finish filling out the consent forms."

Don could hear Alan breathing for a moment before he spoke again, obviously confused. "For the surgery? Why do they have you filling them out?"

Don tried not to let his exasperation show in his voice. "Oswald has no next-of-kin, Dad. When he started classes at CalSci, he listed Charlie as his emergency contact." He lowered his voice. "I'm kind-of pulling rank, here. Os wasn't consulting on a case when he was shot, but as his direct supervisor I may have led some hospital personnel to believe he was under my command at the time."

There was more silence, and then his father surprised him; Don was half-expecting a lecture about protocol. "You do what you have to, son. We can't just let him lie there. Stay safe, Don," he continued. "Be careful. I don't know what Fenton's trying to do, but I'm already sick of his game."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"What's the matter?" Joe asked his mother worriedly from the passenger seat of the rented vehicle. "Mom. We left the house more than two hours ago, what's going on?" he demanded.

Laura didn't answer, but instead turned into a vacant parking lot and glanced around, opening the car door and ignoring her youngest. It was still dark outside, and it was chilly.

Joe shivered and adjusted the strings on his hoodie. "Mom, what's going on?" he demanded again.

"Fenton!" As soon as she spotted a figure, Laura started racing towards it. The two hugged each other, smiling.

"Laura," Fenton said excitedly, holding her tightly and looking over her shoulder toward the car. "I'm so relieved you managed to find a way to meet me! Someone had to – Joseph! Get the hell back here!"

When Joe had heard his mother's shout and spotted Fenton through the windshield, he had understandably panicked. He fumbled with his seat belt with one hand while opening the passenger door with the other, and almost fell outside. He quickly gained his feet, and took off running. Was his mother really in cahoots with Fenton? There was no way – there was no way – was it even plausible? Wasn't this all some nightmare gone wrong? Hell, wasn't the last _year_ some nightmare gone wrong?

His mother had awoken him in the middle of the night, saying she had news on Frank, and the two had slipped out of the house without anyone noticing, not even Alan, who had fallen asleep on the couch around 1:00 AM. Joe had been apprehensive and concerned about leaving without awaking their friend first, but his mother had insisted. Now, he knew why.

Joe cried out in pain as Fenton tackled him to the ground, snapping him painfully back into reality. He hadn't really thought that he would get away, but he had to try.

"Like it or not, you're coming with us," Fenton said, grabbing Joe's wrist tightly.

Joe winced, but from previous experiences, he knew better then to fight back. The one time he had, it had earned him a trip to the hospital, and there had been so much pain… Joe shoved the memory out of his head. "Where's Frank?" Joe demanded. "Where did you put Frank? I want to see my brother!"

"I didn't take Frank or his skinny pal," Fenton said with a wide, false, smile. "One of my men did it for me." Actually, he was lying and somewhat… desperate, wondering what had happened to Frank himself. He had contacted all of his "lieutenants" who were still in hiding, and there was nothing. He hadn't bothered to contact the grunts yet, since he seriously doubted any of them had the brains, or the brawn, to kidnap Frank. He wasn't even sure any of them had managed to avoid the massive dragnet that was destroying his cartel. However, since his plan was to kill Joe in front of Frank, and then torture Frank, he figured he'd better pull out all the stops. Hadn't he promised them that was what would happen, should they ever tell? Fenton Hardy was nothing, if not a man of his word.

Joe froze in terror. Not only was he trapped with his father, and his mother, whom he now saw was a part of the operation, but to make things worse, he had no clue where his brother was.

Fenton grabbed Joe and dragged him towards the car. "Not a word," he grunted in his ear, tossing the keys to Laura, who had met them there. "You drive, sweets. I'll be in the back, getting reacquainted with my baby boy."

Laura smiled as she got into the car. "It's so good to be back with you, dear. I've missed you so much. And every boy needs his father." She laughed a little wildly, and started the engine.


	10. Chapter 10

Hey, everyone. Thanks for the reviews. Please keep reviewing. If not for me, do it for my beta. She put millions of hours into this, if not trillions. Thanks, Fraidy.

-The Silent Rumble

_About twenty minutes later, he fell asleep, and he had been having this same damn nightmare, over and over again. _

Megan normally didn't go off and do things by herself. Since Don was the leader of the team, she followed his orders; at least for the most part. That didn't mean that she didn't do her own thing every now and then—like she was doing now. She had figured it would probably be better not to let Don know where she was going, especially since he seemed unusually emotionally invested in this case.

After a bit of research, she found out where Gertrude Hardy was being held. It had taken twenty minutes to find out that Gertrude was being held in lockdown for "unsuitable behavior". She had started off in minimum security, but after a few violent attacks, she was quickly moved to maximum security.

She pulled into the gate of the prison, noting duly that it was farther away from the Hardy's house than Fenton's lockup was—or, at least, had been. The guard greeted her with a smile as she walked by the front desk. "Come on in, Megan," she said, greeting her warmly. "Stopped in for a cup of coffee?"

"Don't I wish," Megan replied with a chuckle. "Sorry, I'm here on business today. I need to look at Gertrude Hardy's records—and talk to her, if it's possible."

"I'll have to check with the supervisor. You would not believe this woman! I swear, she's given us more trouble than any other one in here! There's a reason we only give people plastic silverware—heaven knows what would happen if we gave her a steak knife!"

Megan shook her head as the guard went back to the office, where she noted that there were blinds closed over the windows.

Maybe the supervisor was taking a nap – she'd like to have taken one herself. Six months later, and she still couldn't believe all the chaos that taking down Fenton's ring had caused.

Not much more than ten seconds later, the supervisor was standing in front of her. "Greetings, Megan. I'm sorry to say that Gertrude can't receive any visitors right now."

"Really," Megan mused as she glanced over the sign-in sheet. Nope; there was no 'Laura'—of course, Laura wouldn't be so obvious. Apparently, Laura had never come to visit her brother's sister—or, at least, she hadn't been obvious about it. "Why not?"

The supervisor closed her eyes and sighed. "A couple of days ago, one of the inmates was taunting her because she had turned herself in. She started yelling and screaming, cussing people out. Then, suddenly, as some guards and I started approaching her, she yelled—'That bitch! I swear, that bitch will pay someday! I didn't turn myself in, she turned on me – because she wanted to stay with those scumbags she calls her children. She's been in this thing the whole time!' She said a few other choice words, too, and even attacked one of the guards with her fork, screaming the whole time, 'I want to kill that bitch.' Anyway, she can't be let out—she's still serving a week in solitary. Hopefully, that information helped anyway… sorry, Megan. Want me to let you know when she's out of lockup?"

"No, thanks. The information did help –I've definitely got what I need," Megan muttered. "Thank you very much." As soon as she was out of the prison, she flipped open her cell phone and called Don. "Hey, Don. I've got good news, and I've got bad news. The good news is, Gertrude is still in prison; the bad news is..."

--

_FLASHBACK _

_"It's not a lie!" Joe yelled, tears running down his face as he sat in the front seat of the police car. "I told you! I showed you where he hit me!" _

_"I don't recall that," Chief Collig said with a straight face as he pulled up to the Hardy house. Joe was visibly shaking. He was terrified of Fenton – which was why he had told Chief Collig about him in the first place! Stepping out of the car and towards the door, Chief Collig grabbed Joe by his sweatshirt and rang the doorbell. _

_Fenton opened it, glaring at Joe like he was some rat Chief Collig had picked up off the street. "Can I help you?" he asked, his arms crossed._

_"Fenton." Chief Collig released Joe, who didn't go anywhere. "Joe has told me some things that I believe you should be aware of. I'd like to talk, very briefly, with you." The two stepped in the open door, and Joe followed meekly behind. _

_"Of course," Fenton replied, calm and collected as ever. He shot Joe another look, and Joe meekly sat down in the corner, slumping in the overstuffed chair__.__ He couldn't overhear Chief Collig talking to his father, but he was sure it was about nothing good. _

_Why had he even bothered to trust another individual? He knew the only other person he could trust on the planet to a small extent was Frank, and even recently Frank had been preoccupied with his own troubles. After a gang had attacked him, he'd stayed in his room most of the time. Laura had dragged him off to counseling, but even then he still hadn't talked. _

_Gertrude and Fenton__ often__had loud discussions__at__ the dinner table, with Frank overhearing their every word. Recently, Fenton had decided that they should send Frank away to Alan's, an old friend. The day Frank had left, Joe had watched as Frank had silently packed his suitcases. "I'll miss you," Joe had whispered. "Come back safely." _

_That night, Joe had been terrified to go to sleep in his own room, with Fenton down the hall. He'd gotten only an hour of sleep before one of his father's arguments had woken him up._

_Now, still terrified, Joe__ watched__ Chief Collig __leave__, walking out the door. Fenton stayed in the kitchen for a few minutes. _

_"We're going, right now," Fenton __said as he entered __into the living room. He smiled as he realized Collig was already gone. He grabbed Joe's wrist and started dragging him out of the door. "You little bastard! – I knew I should have killed you the moment you were born__!" _

END FLASHBACK

Joe awoke with a start, grimacing as he remembered the night. Fenton had taken him to Jeff's, but he hadn't actually put two-and-two together before Frank had told him that he'd thought Collig was in on it.

Halfway through the ride there, they'd had to stop, and Fenton had given him a bottle of water—which Joe knew, no doubt, was drugged. About twenty minutes later, he fell asleep, and he had been having this same damn nightmare, over and over again. He had had the nagging suspicion that the water was drugged, but he drank it anyway, knowing full well what would happen if he didn't. He couldn't believe his mother was in on it; it was too much of a shock to take with everything else.

"You coward!" Joe jumped as he heard his father shout. "You think you're so brave, telling your stupid stories and filthy lies! Wait until I get done with you and your brother, _then_ you'll see who's in charge!" He flung the door open angrily, and Frank fell, face-first, right into Joe.


	11. Chapter 11

Charlie sighed as he exited the shower

Charlie sighed as he exited the shower. He was overtired, even though he'd done nothing but sleep the last few days. It

seemed he could do nothing _but_ sleep – it was as though he'd finally been able to unwind enough to relax into sleep, and now he was having a difficult time staying awake. After he'd gotten off the bus, he'd rented a motel room, exhausted.

As he started dressing, he glanced at the clock and duly noted that it was time for the late-night news. He flicked the television on, wondering if his brother had made any more arrests in the Fenton Hardy case.

"It all looked well to the outside world, a relief for the sons of Fenton Hardy. Laura Hardy was a loving mother to her sons – at least as far as everyone could tell. However, in the past two days, all of that seems to have changed. She abducted her son, Joseph Hardy, and is now on the run, whereabouts unknown. We're going to switch to Janise, who's standing right near the house where this took place. Janise?"

"Thank you, Jeffrey. As you can see, the crime scene tape is still up behind me. Four days ago, Frank Hardy and Oswald Kittner went missing. Now we've recently learned that an unknown gunman abducted both—presumably someone who was after Frank Hardy. Kittner was later found unconscious in the middle of LA, left for dead. It's believed that on the same night as someone left Kittner for dead; Laura Hardy took off with her other son, Joe. At first, the main suspect in the case was Fenton Hardy; but now the police have reason to suspect Laura is involved as well. During an interview with an FBI agent, we confirmed our claims that Laura Hardy was indeed, involved. She is believed to have abducted her youngest son, Joseph Hardy, but the FBI has not released information on how or why she may be involved. Everyone is reminded that Fenton and Laura Hardy are considered armed and dangerous; please call FBI or 911 if you see them."

"Thank you, Janise. In other news…"

Charlie shut off the TV. Why hadn't Don called him? Why hadn't he? Surely Don would have let him know that Fenton had escaped prison, right?

Suddenly, Charlie blushed, remembering exactly what he'd done with his cell phone—it was on the front seat of his car, which he'd left abandoned in a nearby parking lot before he'd headed for the Greyhound station.

Grabbing the hotel phone, he quickly dialed Don's number. _Wonder how much extra I'll get charged for this call, _he wondered, then he decided it was worth it. "Don!" He breathed a sigh of relief as soon as his brother picked up the phone.

**00000000000000000000000000000000**

"Frank? Frank, are you okay?" Joe asked, moving so his brother could attempt to untangle himself.

"I've had better days," Frank muttered, and Joe noted duly that his sense of humor was still up and running. "We have to get you out of here."

"I'm not leaving without you, Frank." Joe could tell that his brother was extremely upset, and when both he and Fenton were pissed off at each other, it was not a good thing. Especially right now.

"Joe, he already had Oswald killed because he thought he was my bodyguard." Joe could clearly see the pain etched on his brother's face. "We have to get you out of here. We can't run back to Mom, either. She's… she's in on it with Fenton."

"You're as in just as much danger!" Joe retorted, glaring at him. Then it registered with his brain: "_Oswald's dead?"_ Impossible. Oswald was supposed to be like superman – always alive, and always ready to rescue the innocent.

Ignoring Joe's question because it was too painful, Frank paused, as if thinking how to form his words. "Upstairs," he said, "I was pretending to be asleep. He wants to kill you, Joe. He's going to kill you and torture me."

"All the more reason why we should get you out of here, too!" Joe interrupted, glaring at Frank angrily. The two brothers were immersed in conversation and neither noticed the door swinging open.

"We're going, but first, a question," Fenton said, and both boys stumbled to their feet, Joe clinging to Frank. Even if you didn't know who he was and had no clue about his personality whatsoever, you could still see that he was livid. "Why the hell would they assign you a bodyguard, Frank? Why wouldn't your mother know about it?" he demanded, crossing his arms. He nodded towards Joe. "Does _he_ have one?" he asked, not even bothering to address his younger son by name.

Frank shook his head, glancing nervously at Joe. "N-no," he stuttered, then cursed inwardly, knowing how much Fenton hated stuttering. "Joe has no bodyguard."

Fenton swore under his breath, then lashed out his hand and hit Frank. "Tell me the truth, dammit! Who did they assign as his bodyguard? Surely they wouldn't just assign you one, would they? Tell me—or Joe dies."


	12. Chapter 12

Joe kept his face buried in the hood of his sweatshirt, terrified. He could hear his parents arguing in the front seat about what to do next, where to go, and whom they could still trust. Joe knew that in spite of Don's team's efforts, plenty of Fenton's men had escaped the FBI's radar.

Frank slept next to Joe, his hood, too, pulled low over his face so that nobody would see it. Frank had been crying, and if there was one thing Fenton detested more than anything, it was crying. Joe had only been five when he had learned that lesson and learned the scary side of "Daddy." Shuddering, he tried to force that memory out of his head:

_Joe, normally an excited kindergarten student, had stayed home that winter day with the sniffles. His mother had been kind to him, bringing him breakfast in bed and reading him stories all morning, whenever he was awake. Then lunchtime had arrived, and with it, his father. Laura had asked Fenton to come home during his lunch hour to watch "the baby", so she could rush to the grocery and the pharmacy. Joe's sniffles were blossoming into a full-blown flu by the time he awoke. His head was stuffy, he was cranky, and he hurt all over – as if he had lost a wrestling match with Frank. The little boy had never been so miserable in his entire, entire, long, long, life. A great despair for himself combined with his physical pains and a wordless fear that something terrible was happening to him; Joe began to sob in his bed._

_When his mother did not come right away, he let the sob grow into a wail. At first, he just wanted his mommy to make him feel better. Then, he recognized his father's heavy footfalls on the stairs and began to screech in earnest; Daddy could be mean, he didn't want Daddy. _

"_You spineless, miserable whelp," Fenton had sneered from the doorway of the boy's bedroom. "You'll never be a man. You'll always be a pampered little mama's boy! Crying over nothing. Crying at the drop of a hat." His face was closed in a dark scowl as he advanced on the child's bed. "Fine. Cry, you little wuss. Daddy will give you something to cry about."_

_Joes eyes were screwed tightly shut, so he did not see his father fumbling with his belt buckle. When the thin leather strap whipped into his bare arms, he didn't even see it coming. He screamed and jerked away from the pain, but Fenton's belt easily chased him around the bed. His father was careful not to break skin as he pummeled the boy without mercy. By the time Laura returned from her errands, Joe was covered with bruises, his face flush with fever, sitting in his father's lap in the big rocking chair next to the bed. Fenton's hand dug into his little thigh under a blanket, reminding him of the warning he had given just a few minutes before: "Tell your mother, you little fool, and next time I won't stop. Do you think your mother wants a crybaby for a son? DO YOU? Tell your mother, and you'll break her heart. She will die of a broken heart – and it will all be your fault!"_

_When Laura exclaimed over the sight of her hiccupping, miserable son, Fenton had easily convinced her that the fevered child had wandered deliriously until he fell down the stairs; he claimed to have heard the noise from the kitchen, rushing out to find the boy at the bottom in a heap._

_Joe never told his mother. He told Frank, who by that time had his own experiences with Fenton – and neither one of them ever cried again._

Now, he shuddered again, unable to stop the memory. The last hour had been pure hell for Joe. He had known when he had seen the look on Frank's face he was ready to erupt. Frank had a good control on his temper, but when he let it loose, it went flying. Fenton, too, was extremely pissed off, and Joe knew from previous experiences that the two could go at it for hours. It didn't matter how much his brother fought, though. Fenton always won.

Frank had tried to convince Fenton that Joe didn't have a bodyguard, but Fenton didn't believe him. "If they ensured one of my sons, they would have ensured both. Now, who is it?" Fenton had demanded, each word punctuated with him hitting Frank.

Fenton still believed that there was a bodyguard, and even asked Frank if Oswald was supposed to be watching them both. Fenton still hadn't believed Frank and had only left because of the sirens that were nearby, forcing everyone to get in the car as fast as they could after the sirens had left. Joe thanked God that Fenton still panicked easily over stuff like that.

There was a cell phone on Fenton's belt, and Joe badly wanted to reach out and touch it, he wanted to grab it and call for help. But who could he trust, anymore? His mother was a traitor, Oswald was dead, and if his mother was a traitor – which it was quite clear that she was – Joe really had no idea who else was involved in this thing. He was afraid even to trust Uncle Alan, anymore. He and his sons seemed nice enough on the surface, but the fact remained that Alan had first come into the family by way of his relationship with Fenton. For all Joe knew, Eppes was on Fenton's side.

His stomach clenched, and he glanced out the window, seeing the familiar shadow of Bayport. Obviously, they had been in the car longer then Joe had originally thought. Maybe he had fallen asleep, too. Two blocks later, Fenton pulled into the old family home.

"They'll never think to look here," Fenton chuckled. "We'll be safe for a few days." He turned towards Laura. "Excellent idea, honey. Welcome home, everybody, welcome home."

**565846905068546905469055945**

"The only way we could pull Gertrude out of solitary was to put her into our custody and transport her here," Don said apologetically to Megan. "I'm not exactly looking forward to it, either. At least you didn't have to put up with her on the ride here. Is Charlie here yet?"

"Alan's driving him in," Megan replied, staring at Gertrude. Anyone could tell the woman had been a model in her early days, but the model image had definitely worn off now. Her hair sagged and it looked as if she hadn't bothered to comb it for weeks.

"It's not my fault I'm here, you big oaf," Gertrude yelled at Colby. "I did nothing wrong. I wasn't even _involved_ that much, yet you have me on conspiracy to commit murder! How dare you arrest me _again_! What evidence do you have on me? Nothing! I did nothing wrong!"

"Nothing wrong, my ass," Colby retorted. "What about the fact that you tried to shoot an FBI agent when he tried to arrest you?"

"I wasn't in my right mind at the time," Gertrude yelled. "The gun was there, and he said I could shoot him!"

"Are we sure she's in her right mind _now_?" Megan whispered to Don.

Don shrugged. "Probably not, but I want to question her to get a feel for how much Laura was actually involved. Did she just know about the abuse and Fenton's drug trades or did she participate in them?"

"This is Laura's fault!" Gertrude yelled to anyone who was – or wasn't – listening. "It's Laura's fault. She insisted I come with her to the station. I'm gonna kill that bitch," Gertrude swore, glaring at Colby as he tried to escort her to the interrogation room.

"It's going to be a long day," Don muttered, glancing at his watch. "Let me know the second Charlie gets here, okay?"

**565846905068546905469055945**

Charlie and Alan sat in the car. Alan had picked Charlie up at the motel and asked him all the questions Charlie had expected: _"Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?"_ He'd asked him several other questions, too, until Charlie said to just take him to Don's office. He couldn't believe both the Hardy boys were missing and that Laura was involved. Sure, he didn't want them _here_, but he wouldn't wish pain on anyone.

"So what does Don know, with this case?" he asked, turning towards his father.

"All I know is that Fenton escaped and Laura's involved. I can't believe it, really. She seemed like such a sweet lady when I met her before."

"Dad, don't kick yourself," Charlie said automatically. He sighed and leaned his head back. "You saw her for what, two minutes? Nobody thought she was involved. We don't even know _how_ involved she was."

"I sure would like to know," Alan muttered under his breath. "I sure would like to know."

**565846905068546905469055945**

"You people sure are stupid," Gertrude informed Don as she sat down in her seat. "Dragging me up from solitary. What do you think I'm gonna tell you anyway?"

"We want to know about Laura," Don replied.

"Laura." Gertrude sniffed, glancing at the observation window. "How many cops you got watching me?"

Don ignored that question and glanced down at the sheet of paper Megan handed to him. "Laura. Did she actually know about the drug trade?"

"She knew about everything," Gertrude replied, tossing her hair back. "She knew more than me, that's for sure. When we were alone, she always rubbed it in that she knew every little detail about his operation. If she was willing, she could tell you each and every traitor there was. She knew all the cops involved."

"Really," Don mused, wondering how nobody had noticed that Laura was involved. He was still angry at himself for not realizing it. "Did you know all the cops involved?"

"No, but I know some." Gertrude smiled. She loved shocking people; it was her favorite hobby when she was younger and it was her favorite hobby now. "One of them's in your office, right now."

"I see," Don said. "Maxwell?"

"Pfft no. He was arrested from day one. Good thing, too. I hated the asshole. No, no. The traitor has gone unnoticed for too long." She sighed and sifted in her chair. "The traitor is Liz Warner. You know, your girlfriend?"


	13. Chapter 13

_Please continue to review, as it really motivates me to update. Everyone give a huge thanks to Fraidy Cat as I'm sure I changed my mind at least ten times on this chapter. Thanks for all the great reviews so far. :) _

Joe was terrified and exhausted. His stomach felt awful and his throat was clenched tight; he knew he was on the verge of getting sick. He was terrified because he knew that his father's promise was coming true. His father was going to kill him. That's what he'd always said, ever since day one: "If you tell, I will kill you!"

His father had used various threats across the ages, but that wasn't what worried Joe now. What worried Joe was that his father's promise was about to come true. He knew his father didn't even want Frank around, except to fulfill the promise he'd always made about torturing him. He really knew it was his mother who was keeping Frank alive.

Joe's family looked great to everyone else. All his friends told him, "I wish I had parents like yours!" Joe, however, knew the true story. A single misstep at a bad time could and would erupt the sleeping giant (also known as Fenton). Even simple things, like asking to stay out at a friend's overnight, were forbidden.

In Joe's life, he felt that there had been favoritism, too. He was ignored by both parents unless his mother was yelling at him or his father was hurting him. In his eyes, Frank was always being sent away to visit relatives while he was stuck at home. He knew that wasn't the case now, but it still didn't help matters much.

Ever since Frank had told, Joe had felt like there was a there was a growing distance between them. Frank wouldn't talk to anyone, especially not Laura. During the drive to the house, Frank had regained consciousness. Joe had begun whispering to his brother, at first to keep Fenton from discovering that Frank was awake and deciding to finish the job of killing Frank wherever they were; the middle of nowhere. Eventually Joe could not stop himself from asking Frank if he had suspected their mother's involvement in Fenton's organization. The younger boy was still having difficulty reconciling the woman he had thought was his mother with who she really turned out to be. For some reason, it seemed important to know if Frank had been as taken-in and sucker-punched as he was. Frank hadn't replied, but from the look on his face, it was evident that he already knew. Joe had never felt so betrayed in his life. _If his brother had known his mother was a traitor, why hadn't he told him?_

Suddenly, boots clunked down on the stairs, jarring Joe back to the present. He tried to hide behind the roll of old carpet that hadn't been removed. He knew it wouldn't work, but he wanted to try.

"Joseph, get _out _here!" At the sound of his father's voice, Joe winced, and he knew he was in for trouble. Fenton spotted the roll- one of the few remaining objects in the room - and grabbed his arm. "It's time for you to die," Fenton said, laughing. "How would you like to die today, Joseph?"

**565846905068546905469055945**

Don's eyes bulged as he threw open the interrogation room door, letting out a strangled protest."Megan, did you just hear what she said? I believe you - she's off her rocker!"

"I think she might be right," Megan replied.

"What?" Don's face turned bright red. "Are you overruling _my_ judgment?"

"No, I'm saying that Fenton infiltrated people into places to 'keep tabs' on his workers –and his son. Come to think of it, Liz was involved in the case, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, she was doing most of the questioning of the people we thought were--" Don broke off in mid-sentence and swore. "Dammit! She was out here a second ago, wasn't she?"

"She took off the minute that you started talking to Gertrude. Muttered something about a 'damn traitor' and then stalked off. She's been kind of funny the last week, too. That's what tipped me off and why I think Gertrude might be right. What's wrong?"

"She has all the contact information for all the people we thought were Fenton's moles that we haven't found yet. _Dammit_, get her now!"

**565846905068546905469055945**

Somehow, Frank knew that when they arrived at the old Bayport house, it was where Fenton planned on killing Joe. He couldn't explain it, but he knew it was going to happen – and soon. He had slept most of the way there, but when he was awake, thoughts where churning in his brain about how to get away—they had to get away; they had no choice _but_ to get away, because if they didn't, his brother was as good as dead.

Not that he knew where to go, though. Before, he would have gone to Oswald, but now that Oswald was dead, he had no clue where to go. He was starting to have a nagging doubt about the Eppes family, as well. For all he knew, this was totally Fenton's plan.

When Fenton had thrown Frank in the bedroom, he'd gone to his old hiding spot and dug into it. Sure enough, there were tools and he got right to work. He didn't have much, but he hoped to be able to break through the window.

All hope of escape was gone, however, the second that Fenton and Joe entered the room. Joe looked like he was about ready to cry, and Fenton looked _furious_. "What do you think you're doing, Franklin Hardy?" he bellowed.

Dropping his tools, Frank turned towards Fenton in shock. He hadn't really expected to get caught, though he'd known it was a possibility. "You have been outright disrespecting me since we met up," Fenton growled, his voice low and menacing.

"You had my best friend killed." Frank's voice was infused with anger, but he kept it low, glancing nervously at Fenton and Joe. _What was going on? _

"Best friend, my ass. He was your bodyguard. Nothing more, nothing less." Fenton smiled. "At any rate, you outright disrespected me. Since you did, I'm going to change plans."

**565846905068546905469055945**

"Change plans?" It was the first time Joe had seen Frank look nervous since this nightmare had started. Before, his brother was just angry.

"Yes, change plans." Fenton smiled. "I'm going to take Joe out in the back and kill him. When you hear the gunshot, that means your brother is as good as dead."

Frank bolted up from his seat. "No, Dad, please--"

"Shut up," Fenton yelled, pushing Frank back down to the ground. "Did you really think you were going to get away? Well, you did for awhile. But it's only a matter of time before I'm up and running again." He smiled an evil grin, making Frank's stomach churn. "You are going to be one of the pawns. Surely, they wouldn't want you hurt. After all, they hired you a bodyguard!"


End file.
